Naked Fear

We all have our fears. Whether unfounded or proven they can overshadow our lives in a very profound and lasting way. It's said we fear the unknown, I don't believe that, it bucks our exploratory nature. I believe we fear what we know, and building upon that what we imagine, and certainly beyond the borders of our imagination awaits paranoia.

My fears as a single man are without a doubt the stuff of too much thinking, "I think, therefore I fear" is an apt axiom. Above all else I fear never being in love again, it's the trunk from which all my other anxieties branch, and never having sex again is likely the largest branch. Getting too damn old to have sex before I have it again is another fear. We're all moving in that direction, it cannot be avoided by anything other than an early death.

Time lords over my fears, it would seem. It's all a matter of not having enough time. Each day that goes by is one less day I'll have to spend with her, one less day we can be intimate, that's assuming "she" ever comes along at all. It's difficult to shake fears when they're reinforced day after lonely day. Still, while I must live with my fears (for now) I will not allow them to control me, nor to pressure me into an unhealthy relationship just for the sake of being in one.

Bitch, Please!

Okay. Uh-huh. I see. Your boyfriend; your ex; your beneficial friend, is treating you like a sex toy, and it's breaking your little heart. He's never made love to you, you want to be made love to. We've talked about it, what you want from a relationship, or even just a sexual partnership.

I get it, I'm your confidant, but guess what, you're pissing me off. More than that, you're depressing me. Perhaps you may have noticed, but I'm not with anyone, and I know you haven't noticed, I know exactly what you want, and I know you don't have the slightest clue, I can give it to you.

I'm not asexual, I have the parts, and they work, better than you realize, but that's never occurred to you, has it?

Ladies, perhaps you've done this to some poor sap, that, or you're doing it right now, but what you fail to realize is, you're slowly grooming the perfect partner, a man that knows you inside and out, what you like in and out of bed. It's tantamount to growing something, and just so the metaphor is clear, let's say a cucumber. You cultivate it with your wishes and your griping, and before long it ripens, but do you pick it and enjoy it? Not likely. You ignore it and allow it to sour, at which point your trusted confidant loses interest and steps in front of a bus.

There you have it. A perfectly good cucumber becomes a lemon and rolls off into obscurity while you continue to take it from a perfect A-hole.

I do realize this social phenomenon swings both ways, and so I encourage the sympathetic ears of either sex to take a stand. What's the difference between being turned down or simply walking away of your own volition? The heart is pained either way. So speak up, perhaps all those many hours of consolation will pay off, if you never try, you'll never know.

Arousal: A Male Perspective.

I often wonder what knowledge women have of masculine arousal. Unquestionably women have a profound grasp of how to incite arousal, and almost certainly a familiarity with the biological mechanism, but when it comes to the purely psychological element?

Ostensibly, raising one for a man is simple, as easy as 1 + 1 = an old Hornington. One part anything that provokes the thought of sex and one part the thought itself; there you have it. But here's the real secret: there is nothing on earth of higher priority, nothing in this world more in need of attention than an erection. It is THE most demanding thing in the natural world.

That's it. It's very straightforward, Frick and Frack fire the coals and Captain Standish takes the helm; it's "damn the torpedoes!" from there. I'd imagine some would chalk up such fierce and egocentric exigency to ordinary male self-centeredness, but a hard-on is much more a beast of the id, a primitive and instinctive force. As the old adage goes, men do indeed think with their Master John Thursdays, but the greater truth would be that we are hostages to them.

Meet the Naked Single Man.

I am a single man. Personally, being single sucks. It's one thing to be independent, but it's another to be alone. Independence is empowering and positive, it means you'll be okay if the love of your life cheats on you. Codependence, well that's just unhealthy. It'll probably lead to stalking incidents, countless years in your parents' basement, and even worse, a bad marriage.

To reiterate: I am an independent human being. I can go places all by myself, mingle confidently with a roomful of people I hardly know, and get together with women I've met online without hiding behind a large potted plant.

An independent guy is something women look for! Is he? Hell if I know. I really don't know what the hell women look for. Dating is not an easy game. You can put stock in affected know-it-alls like Mystery and his canned-fruit "Method", or David DeAngelo's wooing twaddle, if either work for you, well that's just great! Nothing is going to work all the time, women are as complex as Euler's Formula (look it up, I had to; unless you're Rain Man you won't be at it for longer than five seconds before you die of a brain aneurism), assuming you know what women like and are like isn't the same as knowing.

But boldly in the face of all that feminine murkiness, the one thing I know with secure conviction is that I want one. I want a woman! Just one. Finding that one woman has proven latterly problematic, in point of fact, it's beginning to get ridiculous. I cannot meet a woman! I know they're out there, I see them all the time, everywhere I go, and they look fantastic! Seeing may be believing, but it as sure as hell isn't meeting. Besides, women can't be approached outside a social setting, it just isn't proper.

Sure, I go out and try to get in on things, socialize and let life rub up against me, but I still never get to meet those women. The women I do meet are of "too" types: too young or too taken! That means neither are interested. Conceivably, were I a suave lothario I could land chicks like that, but my politeness just happens to be genuine.

It's as though every new opportunity swiftly runs afoul of the same old, same old. It's really very, very frustrating. But I refuse to surrender! I refuse to be single!